


On the Road

by Melo_Mapo



Series: War & Peace [4]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Fantasy Fulfillment, Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melo_Mapo/pseuds/Melo_Mapo
Summary: Furiosa's daydreaming about nice things to do to Max on the way home.





	1. Chapter 1

“I can’t wait to be at the Citadel.”

Max jumps a bit, looks at Furiosa, who’s driving the rig on their way back from a week long run to Gastown. Furiosa checks her mirror with a glance and goes back to staring straight ahead, then adds:

“I want to get back to our bed.”

“Huh?”

Max turns and looks around the rig’s cabin. He must have dozed off, because Toast is nowhere to be seen, probably on the roof, checking something, and the off-duty War Boy is sleeping. Even like that, it’s unusual for Furiosa to express such longing so overtly, though the tension and tiredness in her body was already telling Max about it.

“That mattress is great,” continues Furiosa, “I’ve been dreaming about it for six days.”

Max groans and makes a show of cracking his back as answer. Furiosa chuckles, a soft sound that makes Max breathe a bit easier. The visit was successfully concluded with a new pact, in the advantage of the Citadel, but things had been tense, and the crew had stuck together in close quarters, afraid of assassination.

“Been dreaming about you, too.”

Max makes a wondering sound, curious despite being afraid of someone overhearing them.

“Us, in bed, among the soft things you got us… We haven’t had much time to, err…”

Max knows what she wants to say. They haven’t had time for sex since he got them the mattress: the Buzzard got wind of the Mall still holding treasures from the Old World, and there had been a fight, easily won by the Citadel, but followed by days and nights of emptying the Mall of its riches to store them somewhere safer. That, in turn, led to exploring many of the passages and habitations dug in the rock in search of extra storing space. The news that so much space was available created a riot among the Citizens, many of whom felt their precarious living conditions on the ground were unfair. Once a system had been put in place to slowly renovate and allocate living quarters, it had been time for the diplomatic mission scheduled with Gastown, and then they spent six days piled with the crew. Long story short, Max longs for Furiosa and some peace and quiet.

“Want sex with you too,” he says, feeling awkward and a bit too honest, having never had any talent for flirting even Before.

This gets him a glance from Furiosa and a smile, small, but a smidge smug.

“Yeah. I want to lay you there, no clothes, take my time.”

Max feels himself heating up. He does not like to show his scarred body, especially his carved back, but sometimes, when he gets fully naked, Furiosa will look him all over, kiss and caress, massage even, until he’s a pile of goo, then she’ll ride him how she wants it, until they both come and he can’t move, falls asleep on the spot.

“Want to try… Want to try using my mouth.”

Max hums, then says:

“You sure?”

Furiosa tried before, but Max had stopped her 30 seconds in, feeling that she was forcing herself, and that she was not enjoying it. They have hit few triggers, all things considered, but this is a big one. Furiosa checks her mirrors, glances at the sleeping War Boy and says:

“Been wanting to. You… enjoy it.”

Max feels himself redden more. He does enjoy giving oral to Furiosa quite a lot. She makes those great noises when she lets go, and she enjoys penetrative sex a lot more after an orgasm too. If he is lucky, he can even get a second one out of her sometimes after his own.

“I do. But _you_ don’t have to.”

Furiosa glances at him again, smiles, goes back to driving.

“I know, I just…”

She shuts up just in time for Sharp to sneak in the back of the cabin from the window.

“Toast took my spot so I could get a bit of rest.”

Then, noticing the sleeping War Boy, he adds in a quieter voice:

“Hey, Max, you should put paint on when you’re in the sun.”

“Huh?”

‘’You’re all red in the face, gonna hurt later.”

Max makes a dejected groan, because he’s blushing, not getting sunburnt, and Furiosa openly laughs, a sound that shocks Max right out of his embarrassment.

“Chrome! I hadn’t heard that in a while, Boss. What’s the occasion?”

Furiosa kind of shakes her head, and Sharp shrugs, lets it go, and quickly settles to nap as well. He is out like a light, and after a while, Max tells Furiosa, in a low voice:

“I’m looking forward to being home, too.”

It’s a big word, home, but it’s the only one that fits now, he realizes. Trusting their escort, the War Boys on duty, and Furiosa behind the wheel, Max lets himself doze off, fantasies swirling in his mind and mixing with warm, fuzzy memories of what it had been like to have a home.


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner is a quick affair, both Furiosa and Max weary from the road, and others understanding of that. The Dag stops by to update them on pressing matters, just wanting Furiosa’s opinion before she takes off for a meeting, her toddler in tow.

They bid everybody goodnight early on, and if people guess they have other plans for the night, they learned enough politeness not to mention it. The secret passages are not so secret anymore, as others have moved in the labyrinth of troglodyte habitations in the last week. The hallways have been cleaned, intersections now have basic directions indicated, and a tangle of cables running along the ground seems to indicate that some lighting will be eventually provided. When they reach their door, a carefully carved sign has been nailed there that reads “Furiosa & Max,” and the nearest units are still empty, which Max is grateful for: their hideout’s location becoming known means they’ll have to reinforce security.

Once inside however, nothing has changed, if you don’t count their citrus tree looking glum from the lack of water. After barring the doors and watering the poor plant, Furiosa grabs him for a kiss that quickly gets heated. After a minute, Max takes a step back, worried about Furiosa getting stubborn and pushing herself into something she will regret later. He has also grown pretty excited at the idea, and doesn’t want to rush things himself. It is still light out, will be for over an hour still, but already the shadows grow long and the Citadel is cooling off and, when he lets Furiosa undress him, the metal of her prosthesis is cold but not unbearably so in the receding heat of the day. In turn, when he’s naked, she lets him unbuckle the straps for her arm, and hang it by the door, near where she put his brace. She is wearing the new silk undershirt he got her, and the fabric feels like water on his calloused hands. It will need to be washed, as she has been wearing it for the whole week, but he still rubs his cheek on it, not minding the smell of Furiosa’s sweat after so many nights spent sharing far more than body odour. He remembers a time when people never smelt, but it is long past: even here in the citadel, water is too precious for washing daily beyond the most basic ablutions.

Once they are both naked, they snuggle for a while, standing there, basking in each other’s contact, skin to skin. Furiosa caresses his back, and he finds he doesn’t mind if her hands can read the words there. She knows all about what’s written anyway, down to the crass details – piss ok. That’s what happens when you live with someone.

“How do you want to do it?” asks Max softly.

“Not with me kneeling,” is her only answer.

Max takes her to the bed, and lies down, legs splayed as wide as he can. He’s starting to get hard, what with having had all of Furiosa’s glorious nakedness under his palms, but he’s in less of a hurry than he thought he’d be. That’s also what living with someone does, he thinks: take the edge off, the urgency, leaves you with the space to say no, to try again, to not do if you don’t feel like it.

Furiosa is making a face that means she is considering options, thinking things through, and Max just lays there in the meantime, admiring her as she’s kneeling between his feet, perfectly balanced despite her missing limb, body powerful even in such a context. He’s always impressed at how fast she switches from wearing the heavy metal prosthesis to not having it on. It always takes him a while to get used to the weight of his own brace missing, tough he hasn’t needed it so much lately, at least not when at the Citadel.

Eventually, Furiosa starts easy, caressing Max’s legs, crawling up his body so that she can kiss him, leaning on her stump. Max answers the kiss, puts his hands on her hips, light and non-demanding. They kiss for a long moment, and then Furiosa’s hand goes wandering, starting with his jaw, then pulling playfully on his earlobe before making its way down, over the shoulder, across his chest (pinching a nipple in passing, which makes Max groans: she knows perfectly well he’s ticklish there), then lower, rounding his belly (he _is_ building some fat, miracle of miracles), tracing his hipbone, and the jut below leading to his crotch. She scratches the coarse hair of his pubis, and Max’s groan, this time, is more appreciative. He’s been in the mood for the past quarter hour, but now his body is starting to respond more frankly, and he feels himself harden at the tempting proximity of Furiosa’s nimble fingers, now caressing the inside of his thighs. But she barely grazes his penis, teasingly circling the head with her fingertips, before her hand flies back up to his jaw, and she kisses him again, more deeply. Max kisses back, and when the same path is traced again by her hand, he lets her do whatever she pleases, keeping his hands still on her waist, trusting her to get to the point, sooner or later. She is watching his reactions, and so he closes his eyes, keeping his mounting impatience at bay by losing himself to the sensations. She has traced the path three times, slow and careful, when she starts following it with her mouth rather than her hands: licking along the jaw, nibbling at his earlobe, peppering his shoulder and chest with pecks, biting his nipple before kissing her way down to his belly, blowing a raspberry on his bellybutton (which makes Max squeaks in surprise) then, slowly, she drags her mouth through his pubic hair, and rests her lips at the junction of his leg and crotch.

“It’s soft, right here,” she says, kissing the spot. “Not so soft there,” she adds, using her hand to scratch the rough hair above.

Max hums, his hands now flat on the bed, knowing she is not testing his patience but her own limitations, and that he must keep his cool. But when she smiles up at him through her lashes after licking a long strip up his cock and kissing the top, Max is not so sure anymore. Thankfully, her next move is to wrap her hand around the now fully rigid member and suck the head in her mouth.

The sound Max makes has her look up, but he gestures for her to keep going before closing his eyes for good, gripping the blanket hard to keep himself from reaching for her.

It’s been a while for him too.

Wastelanders trade sex often enough, oral especially, but Max has always tried to stay away from it himself, remembering about all the unsavoury things that get transmitted this way.

Now he might regret it a bit, because Furiosa, all fears forgotten at the moment, is trying out different levels of suction combined with different motions of her hand along his shaft, and Max would be hard pressed to say which feels best, but he knows for sure he is not going to last long.

“Fuck! Furi…”

He taps her shoulder and she immediately pulls her (warm, wet, soft) mouth away, and Max tethers off the edge, surprised by her sudden abandon, understanding when he opens his eyes that she got spooked a bit.

“It’s… er… if you could… finish with your hand?” suggests Max, gesturing to the (slightly to tight) grip she still has on his dick.

She breathes, in and out, deeply, and relaxes, then lets go of him entirely. With an apologetic smile, she offers:

“I can get back to sucking you?”

Max groans negatively:

“Won’t last much longer anyway.”

The smile turns a little smug, and Max can’t help reaching for her, gently touching her arm to encourage her up the bed again, so that he can kiss her. After a few light kisses, she gets out from between his legs, sprawling more comfortably at his side instead, her legs locking his in place, nub on his hip, and hand back on his penis. When Max ventures a hand of his own between her legs, she is quite wet, and the little sighs he quickly gets from her when exploring there confirms she has been enjoying the experience.

That, more than anything, lets Max relax enough that he can safely let her push him over the edge, to his release, where he knows he might instinctively grab her and hold her tight against himself. After coherent thinking comes back to him, he finds Furiosa looking at him, considering, as she wipes his belly down with a rag.

“What?” he asks.

She smiles:

“I wonder if I could tie you somehow, and make you come with my mouth.”

Max chokes on air, gurgles, then says:

“It’s… It’s something to think about.”

He’s not a big fan of restraints, too many memories of being captured, kept prisoner, on a leach, but with Furiosa, well, it wouldn’t be the same. He trusts her, of course, but there is also a part of him that wouldn’t mind being her creature, the thing she keeps close for pleasure and for company. He knows she thinks him a full person, and an equal, but that’s precisely why the idea of submitting to her like that is appealing: because she wouldn’t think less of him for it.

“Hey. Still with me?”

Max snaps back to the present moment, and knows he must be blushing quite spectacularly, because Furiosa raises an eyebrow and says, slightly mocking:

“Something to think about… Or something you already thought about quite a lot?”

Max groans and rolls away from her, hiding his smile in a pillow when he hears Furiosa laugh. He feels the mattress dip as she moves, so the hand on his back isn’t much of a surprise, but he still has shivers running down his spine, and she apologises in a low voice before tracing scars and tattoos, mumbling as she reads them for herself.

“Want me to go down on you?” asks Max to interrupt the litany before she gets to no supplies, psychotic, muzzled.

Furiosa stops.

“Tomorrow morning?”

Max turns his head, looks at her:

“Tired?”

She shakes her head no:

“Too amped from the road.”

That happens sometimes, when she’s riding low on sleep and high on adrenaline: she will chase her orgasm, never reach it, get frustrated.

“Sleep time?” he offers.

She nods, climbs off the bed to fetch their underwear and nightshirts, then sneaks back in, snuggles him as he wiggles to put his nightclothes on. They never lit any candles, and the light as started to change to announce the night, so the only thing they have left to do is kiss, and fall asleep.

And if they are careful to touch in several places, feet locked and fingers tangled, well, they are the only ones to know.


End file.
